Affirmitive
by Runt the Brave
Summary: The dog was a pessimist. Everything around him had problems and predicaments that required he sort them out, when he himself could barely handle his own problems! Stupid problems.


**A/N: K9 would be the most awesome pet ever. I don't know the classical stuff very well... but I wrote this from what I've observed from the K9 who travels with Four and Romana II.**

**Spoilers: None very specific...**

**Disclaimer: Doctor Who is not mine. Neither is K9, as much as I want him.**

The dog was a pessimist.

Everything around him had problems and predicaments that required _he_ sort them out, when he himself could barely handle his own problems! Stupid problems.

Wheels are not practical. No. Seriously. Wheels are simply _not_ practical. It was fine in the cities and roads and where everything was nice and smooth, but the dog's master just did _not_ do "nice and smooth." The dog lost track of the number of times he rolled up over roots and struggled to maintain upright as he lost his footing. Except he didn't have feet. So, he just lost his traction, which was twice as bad. The tank like side armor wasn't so bad, but it did get annoying, when he tried to fit through perfectly rectangular tunnels. Triangle-ish shapes and rectangles don't go together well. And the wheels were just nuisance. Especially on stairs.

Oh, the canine simply _hated_ stairs. Normally, he was fine with people picking him up and carrying him, unless they were one of the small people who really struggled with his odd shape: that was annoying. But going up stairs should be labeled as cruel and unusual punishment. It was jolt here and jostle there and it made his circuits squirm. And the dog despised the unsettled feeling. Traveling up stairs always meant he lost some decimal point of memory because of the shifting of all the electronic gadgets and such, but the wonderful TARDIS always set him straight.

The wonderful, brilliant TARDIS. The dog may not have felt "a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend" but his thoughts on the TARDIS was the closest thing the little tin dog every had to having a crush. She was a brilliant machine. It was humbling, sometimes, to connect with the consul of his closest friend and feel her awesome power radiating through his circuits. She could do so much more than he could, but to be fair, she was some million times larger and millions of kilograms heavier. But, _oh_, such a wonderful, brilliant, awesome time machine. They would talk, machine to machine, for hours on hours while their thief and master was off doing whatever he normally did. The canine certainly enjoyed his discussions without having Master enquire "are you sure?"

_Are you sure? Are you sure!_ That question was so offensive. The dog was a robot programed to state the facts and keep his master in line. He was programmed to state the obvious! It wasn't like he'd just up and _lie_, simply because he wanted to see Master run around in circles and pressing all the colorful buttons. Especially because Master tended to press the _wrong_ colorful buttons and get himself into impossible situations which required the presence of a tin dog to solve all the various problems. The TARDIS would frequently lament about his inability to follow even the simpliest of advice, from herself, the tin dog, or his current companion. Contrary to Master's belief, K9 _strongly _disliked needed to be fixed repeated. He quiet enjoyed being able to do things.

He disliked being sick. He was a dog, for heavens sake! They weren't _supposed_ to catch human-ish ailments like colds and laryngitis, but, of course, he caught it. During one of their late night discussions, the dog and the TARDIS desided that the world must hate the tin dog. Laryngitis! _Laryngitis. Who knew? _But that wasn't nearly as bad as the time the TARDIS was infested with Nestene Termites. There was a very good reason that the Nestene Consciousness took over _plastic._ Those stupid termites ate everything electronic! The TARDIS, such a wondeful machine, was able to keep them out of her primary circuits, but the little dog had not been so lucky. Stupid ailments. Stupid bugs.

Bugs. If there was one thing he disliked above all others, it was tropical climates. They were doubtless the hardest to navigate, not to mention the exotic wildlife was _always _causing problems. Especially when the little bugs or stupid birds flew into his plunger and stuck. That was... _aggravating._ To put it nicely. Tundra and icy climates weren't much better; they always froze the dog's susceptible circuits. In the years his traveled with his master and the TARDIS, the dog developed the firm opinion that life simply _wasn't _fun, but just when the dog would give up hope, something always happened that made him like being the little, odd little dog with deadly nose laser.

There were many things the dog liked: he enjoyed chess games with Master; conversations with TARDIS; watching Master as the man hopelessly floundered in almost everything he tried; the various Mistresses, although some were better than other; being one of a kind; being something so _special_ he actually could catch laryngitis; and his word. He liked his word. Almost no one else every used it, making it unique to the oddly shaped, legless dog. _Affirmitive._

_Affirmitive._

_Affirmitive._

Life wasn't all bad. There were moments... there were the wonderful, fascinating, incredible, amazing, awesome, brilliant moments that the little dog absolutely loved. Because he did, even if love might have been such a foreign concept for the little tin dog. When his master called, "Let's go see the stars, K9! Won't that be fun?" And they bounced through the stars... "Let's see the stars!"

K9 would hesitate. "_Fun:__ something __that __provides __mirth __or __amusement."_ Indeed. "Affirmitive, Master," the little dog beeped. And deep within his electronic circuits, he believed.


End file.
